Chapter Text
“All right, Munson, it’s me. Don’t fuckin’ attack me with a broken bottle, kapeesh?”
The line is dead for a long moment, and then Eddie Munson’s staticky voice crackles through the speaker of your walkie. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes and clap the antenna down with a small sigh, then cut the engine to your far-too-conspicuous Pontiac. You suppose that the only thing working in your favor is that Reefer Rick’s lake house is surrounded by overgrown foliage that you can tuck the car back into, away from the road.
As the eldest of the Hawkins crew, you’ve taken on the job of “Eddie duty,” as Steve calls it. As if he could be bothered to leave the Wheelers’ basement to run errands instead. There had been a long discussion, wherein your entire group insisted that you were the choice candidate because you’re old enough to pick up a six pack of beer on a moment’s notice. Plus, you aren’t directly linked to Eddie in any way, so it’s a win-win. You look after Munson, and everyone else works on hunting up this “Vecna” creature that you can’t exactly wrap your head around.
Honestly, you could offer to have Eddie stay at your place for a while. You would, except you really don’t love the idea of being arrested. But the more trips you make out here, the more that seems to be becoming a moot point.
Carrying a paper grocery bag in one hand and a six pack in the other, you trudge up the front porch steps and find the door to the house already unlocked for you. There’s a musty cloud of stale air that hits you as you pass through the threshold, and then your eyes find Eddie’s dark head of hair leaning halfway out the kitchen window.
“What… are you doing?” You ask as the screen door swings shut behind you.
Eddie pivots his torso, looking down his nose and smiling brightly at you as he continues fiddling with something on the window frame. He has a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, which bounces up and down as he mutters, “Window’s jammed. Don’t wanna leave it like that, someone could break in.”
“The door was fully unlocked,” you grumble at him as you plop the grocery bag on the counter and rip a beer out of the six pack to crack it open.
“But that’s ‘cause I knew you were coming.” There’s a snap, and the window slides noisily shut as Eddie blows out a cloud of smoke. “Hey- who wrote ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s?’”
“Truman Capote, why?”
“I finished Rick’s crossword, I just needed 24 across.” He sidles up beside you, grabs a pencil from the kitchen table and scrawls ‘Capote’ in the only empty space on the newspaper’s crossword of the day.
“You’ve been sitting here doing crossword puzzles for the last two days?”
Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. High intelligence, low charisma and all.”
“What?”
“It’s, uh… D&D stats? Dungeons and- you know what, never mind. Point is, I’m no good for anything else at the moment.” Your senses are assaulted by cheap beer and tobacco as you take a sip from your can, and then hold it out to Eddie. He takes it appreciatively, with a quiet nod at you as he trades you his half-smoked cigarette for the can.
You avert your eyes almost bashfully as you grab the cigarette with your mouth rather than your hands, which are pulling cans of Campbell’s soup out of the grocery bag. Your lips brush the tips of his fingers before you straighten up, and Eddie clears his throat and turns away from you to lean against the counter. You both regress into an awkward, pregnant silence.
You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been on shift with Robin and Steve when Dustin Henderson came running in and turned the video store into his personal manhunt headquarters. It was the worst case of right place, wrong time. You don’t know what you’re doing at any given moment, but you can say with absolute certainty that Eddie isn’t a killer. And with everything going on, the only moments in the last week that have made any sense to you at all are when you’ve been alone in this dusty ass house with Munson, sharing a beer or a cigarette or both before you have to leave him to his devices again. You find it comforting that he seems just as clueless as you are, and there’s no other expectations that you put onto each other besides that mutual confusion.
Plus, you’ll admit it: you find him intriguing. Interesting. Eddie was supposed to graduate the same year as you, but while you moved on, got a job and spent a few semesters at community college, he stayed at Hawkins High. You hadn’t paid much attention to him while you were going to school together, but you’d had an idea of him in your head. You figured he would be your stereotypical, cookie-cutter metalhead with a chip on his shoulder.
You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, it seems.
“Oh, um, I got you some fancy ass chocolates,” you say, breaking the silence so suddenly that he almost flinches. You pull a gold foiled box out of the paper bag, setting it on the tile counter beside him. “Just figured, y’know. It’s good for morale or whatever.”
Eddie stares down at the box of chocolates like it might explode. He drums his fingers anxiously on the side of his beer before his brown eyes flick up to yours. “You’re serious?”
“Um… yes? They’re just,” you shrug, looking for the right words to offer him, as he’s looking a bit overwhelmed and you aren’t really sure why. “I mean, they’re my favorites. They’ve got this caramel center that isn’t, like, super sweet, so you can eat a bunch and not feel sick to your stomach. I dunno, I just thought maybe it would be good for you to have a little variety. Or something.”
Eddie stares at you for a long time. Then he says, “Were they, uh… expensive?”
“What?” Your eyes widen, and your face feels suddenly hot. They were expensive, as far as candy goes, but you figured it was a luxury he could probably use right about now. But he looks so hesitant to even touch them, almost like he’s horrified that you might have dared to spend more than the bare minimum on him. Which, fuck that. Absolutely fuck that. So, you correct yourself quickly, and you lie, “No, they’re normal priced. I guess. It doesn’t matter.”
It still takes a moment for him to nod, but he still doesn’t move to touch the box. “Thank you.”
You blink down at the paper bag, and figure it would be best to change the subject. “I also got some TV dinners in case you were maybe getting sick of soup. And, uh… I picked up a deck of cards. In case you were getting bored.”
“Because that’s the most important thing on everyone’s mind right now. Whether I’m bored,” Eddie says with a smirk, but takes the unopened deck from you and sets his beer can down, regardless. You see him fiddling with something out of the corner of your eye as you shove the frozen dinners into the freezer, and when you turn back to him, he’s holding a silver ring out to you.
“What is it?” You ask him with a short laugh, taking the ring from him.
“An Ouroboros. A snake swallowing its own tail. It’s, uh… a symbol of eternal life.” He shrugs one shoulder, and then nods slightly toward the box on the counter. Your eyes follow the curve of his lips as he smiles. “For the chocolates.”
“I told you it’s not a big deal,” you argue, trying to hand him back the ring.
“The ring isn’t a big deal either. It’s cheap metal, I got it for a buck and a quarter from a guy downtown.”
You can’t think of anything to say to that. If it’s really not that big a deal, you shouldn’t treat it as such; but something about him giving you one of his rings in exchange for a box of chocolates is a bit formal. And despite what he says, the ring is a bit heavier than you’d expect from ‘cheap metal.’
Eddie laughs and reaches forward, but instead of taking the ring from you, he plucks the still burning cigarette from the fingers of your other hand. “Do I look like I’d bullshit you about that?”
“Dunno. I’m learning not to judge a book by its cover.”
His stare lingers on yours for a long time, while he kind of curls inwards on himself as he takes a drag of your shared cigarette. If you were any kind of romantic, you would probably think that now is a good time to smack the cigarette out of his hand and kiss him, or something equally idiotic. Maybe hyperfocus on the fact that you’ve shared that cigarette multiple times, so you most definitely have him in your mouth already. That his lips are ridiculously pink, and look so lush and stupidly kissable. And if you were to kiss him, he’d probably taste just the same as you. Familiar. Desperate.
But, you’re not. A romantic, that is. You don’t even really like him- of course not, you barely know him. You just… really like his hair. And his neck. And his hands, and fingers, and the way he holds himself, and how you’d really love to see the look in his eyes if you pushed him against the counter and took his cock in your mouth-
You don’t have the time or the energy for wishful thinking, so you let it drop, and you put the ring into your jacket pocket. “Just let me know when you want it back, yeah?”
“Sure. Just as soon as I figure out how to play ‘go fish’ by myself,” he snorts playfully, shaking his unopened deck of cards at you, but his eyes flicker down at your empty hand for half a second. Then, his tone gains a note of seriousness when he adds, “Hey, thanks. For everything. Really.”
“No problem, babe,” you chirp. You clap him on the shoulder, trying to pass off the gesture as just you being friendly, but you nearly stutter when you add, “Who the hell else am I gonna share half a beer with, y’know?”
Eddie nods with a small smile, but you can tell that there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s refusing to voice. When you leave the house, you feel a bit like you’re running away from a bomb about to detonate.
~~~
You don’t sleep anymore.
Well, you haven’t slept soundly in about a week. It’s getting more and more like you’re scared to, for fear of getting Vecna’d, or… or whatever the hell the kids are calling it now. You like to think you’ve mastered the art of staying awake, staring at the Aerosmith poster across from your bed and trying not to nod off.
Maybe it’s a bad idea to deprive yourself of sleep, but until you know that everything’s okay and there isn’t a man-hungry, Freddie Kreuger-ass monster lurking around in the dark ready to crush your bones, you’d rather play it safe. It would be easier if you had someone to stay with you, but your only compatriots are all crashing in the Wheeler’s basement, or in a dilapidated house on the edge of town. You’re on your own.
Or so you thought.
“Guys? Dustin? Wheeler? Code red, I repeat- ah shit- CODE RED-”
You nearly jump out of your skin, scrambling up and out of bed to grab the walkie that you’d plunked down on the dresser top when you got home. You frantically tug the antenna up as Eddie continues babbling through the line.
“Eddie? What’s happened?”
“Oh thank Christ, it’s you,” he says, and his relief is apparent in his voice. “We’ve got a problem- A bunch of fuckin’ basketball players are here, they’re in the house, I think they’re looking for me-”
Your foot catches on your messed up bedsheet as you stumble to grab a pair of flannel pajama pants. Hopping on one foot to pull them on, balancing the walkie in your other hand, you interject, “Okay, where are you?”
“In the boat.”
“The boat?”
“The boat, the fuckin’- the boathouse, man, the shed! I’m in the shed!”
“All right, I’m on my way. Keep the walkie on you, talk to me if anything happens, okay?” You set the walkie down on your kitchen counter to finish pulling on your pants and grab a denim jacket off your footboard.
“How the fuck did they find me?”
“I don’t know.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, Eddie, just-” you trip down your doorstep to your car, fumbling with your keys. “Just try to relax. Is there some place nearby that you can safely go? Can you get to makeout point?”
“I’d have to go uphill.”
“Can you get there?” You tear out onto the road, pushing 90 as you turn onto a back road and head toward the lake.
“Yeah, I can- I can try.”
“Meet me there. Go, now.”
The line goes dead for a solid ten minutes, and in that time you’re trying not to panic. Periodically banging the flat of your palm against the steering wheel, punching the accelerator as hard as it can take the heap of metal uphill toward makeout point. You tear past Reefer Rick’s house to see lights on in the windows, and what looks like Jason Carver’s car pulled up next to the porch, but you have no genuine ability to focus on anything other than getting to Eddie as soon as possible.
Makeout point takes the form of a gap in the trees right in front of a scenic highway pullout. You jerk the car over onto the shoulder of the road and hit the brakes, lifting the walkie off the dashboard.
“I’m here, Eddie, do you copy?”
Silence. You sit in it for a minute, heartbeat thudding in your chest and knee bouncing beneath the steering wheel. You start worrying that you might have to get out and hunt for him. You try to take stock of what all you have in the trunk to defend yourself, if Hawkins’ very own basketball playing cult-leader-in-the-making decides to try and attack you, too.
“Eddie, I swear to fucking god, if you’re dead I’m gonna kill you-”
Eddie barrels out of the bushes towards the car, and fully dives headfirst through the passenger’s side window.
“You couldn’t just open the fuckin’ door like a normal person?” you splutter, using one hand to try to steady him as he grunts and kicks his way into the front seat.
“Nothing about this is normal- DRIVE!”
You whip the car around, flying back down the hill towards town. You brake as you approach Reefer Rick’s, seeing a couple dark silhouettes loitering outside of the house.
“Fuck, get down,” you hiss, yanking on the lapel of Eddie’s jacket.
“What?”
“Get. Down.”
Eddie grunts as he turns and face-plants directly into your lap, his nose digging into the meat of your thigh through your pajama pants. He gives a muffled whine of discomfort, shuffles around a bit, but relaxes once you place your hand solidly on the back of his head to keep him there. You don’t slow as you pass the house. You think you can make out Jason Carver’s blond head moving toward the boathouse, but you refuse to spend any time rubber-necking.
“What the hell took you so long?” you ask as you release Eddie’s head. Your hand smooths over his tangled hair a bit as he pulls back from you.
He shoulders his way into a sitting position and reaches into his jacket to pull out a mangled golden package. “I knew you were lying when you said they weren’t expensive.”
“You went back for the fucking chocolates?” you wheeze, caught somewhere between absolutely livid and stupidly endeared to him. “You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”
“Yeah? Well, how do you think I felt?” He tries to adjust his legs on his side of the car, but his knees knock against the glove box, regardless. “I had to launch the fucking boat to get them off my ass. Good thing I fixed that window, I could just slide it open and grab the box off the counter before I ran-”
“You could have just left them,” you argue with a roll of your eyes.
“I didn’t even get to open it! I wasn’t gonna waste them.” He huffs an indignant sigh and remains quiet for a few seconds, before he inevitably asks, “So, what’s the plan? Where are we going?”
“Big Rock Park.”
“The campground?” Eddie scoffs, snapping the sun visor on the passenger’s side up and out of the way so he can see the road, for what it’s worth. “Why would we go there?”
“It’s where I live.”
“You live at the campground?” Eddie turns his head and stares at you incredulously. You shoot him an annoyed glance.
“First of all, it’s a fucking RV resort, I pay monthly rent. Second, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated? Fucking try me, I’ve got a group of jocks trying to hunt me down, the cops after me, a brain-sucking killer monster sonofabitch who crumpled Chrissy Cunningham up like a piece of paper in my goddamn living room-” Eddie’s voice comes out shrill as he ticks off his different points on his fingers, which you can see out of the corner of your eye are shaking with nerves. “Can’t get a whole lot more complicated than that!”
You sigh, refraining from rolling your eyes again and trying to determine the best way to describe your living situation. “Senior year I was saving up for a car, I ended up buying the family camper off my parents so that I could move out instead. I keep it at the RV park, it’s nice, there’s a water hookup and I don’t have my parents breathing down my neck 24/7.” You shrug, adjusting your grip on the steering wheel. “My cousin dumped this piece of shit on me last year so I didn’t have to drive my house around when I needed to get to class at the college. So, yeah. I live at the campground, sure.”
You can feel his eyes on you, heavy like a lead weight on your shoulder. You sit in silence for a few more seconds before you grit your teeth. “What is it?”
“I just… didn’t expect you to do that, y’know. I mean, I always knew you had balls-” He scoffs, and when you glance at him, his eyes are glued to the road ahead. “I remember when you told Jordan Byrd to eat shit in the middle of the cafeteria in junior year for dumping chocolate milk on your shoes, and that was the most trouble you ever got into.”
“That you knew about.”
He shoots you a deadpan look. “I just always thought you were so… straight laced. Never thought you’d rather live in a fucking camper than with your folks, I guess. I mean, I’d love to be able to do that for myself,” he mutters. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, and then gives you a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Except now I actually have to somehow prove I’m not a murderer, or I’m gonna be arrested and then my life is over. So I guess that’s the last thing I should be worried about right now.”
“Fair enough,” you say as you finally pull into the RV park and cut the engine in front of your camper. “But maybe we should just focus on one thing at a time. Like getting you a shower. You smell like shit.”
He dramatically swoons before giving you a shit-eating grin. “Aw. Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think you really like me-”
“Or I could just leave you in the car.”
“Right.” He throws open the door. “I forgot, you don’t have a sense of humor.”
~~~
Eddie Munson is in your shower.
You sit on the floor of your motorhome, back to the built-in fridge and legs sprawled across the floor, feet nearly touching the front door. You can hear the water running in the sad excuse of a bathroom cubicle, and the sound of the spray dulling out occasionally with each move he makes under it. It’s making your skin crawl and the short hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
He’s in your shower.
Your discarded denim jacket hangs off the side of the bench that behaves as your sofa, just across from the booth that acts as your dining table. The gold foil package of overpriced chocolate that he stupidly risked his neck saving lays on the floor beside your hip. You're trying not to think of the fact that he’s naked on the other side of the door, in cramped quarters like this. The water on his naked skin, dripping down his torso and washing away the dirt and sweat from the last week. Him being forced to use the fruit-scented shampoo that you have, because up until this point it’s been only you.
He’s in your shower.
You rip your eyes from where they’ve gone a bit foggy, staring off into space at the open window above the microwave. You look down at your hands instead, in your lap, twirling the Ouroboros ring idly back and forth. It had fallen out of your jacket pocket when you took it off, and you didn’t have the heart to shove it away again. The snake is rather ornate, like it serves to prove a point. Even if it’s supposedly made of cheap metal, and it has no color other than its gleaming silver, it insists on standing out.
The sound of the water cuts out and only leaves the quiet noise of the local rock station playing Whitesnake on the transistor radio on your kitchen counter. You perk up a bit, your heart rate picking up speed as you hear a sort of wet rustling on the other side of the bathroom door, and then it pops open a crack. You see one of Eddie’s eyes, a flash of brown hair, and a white towel hung low on his hip.
“Uh, do you have anything I can wear-?”
You snatch an extra pair of flannel pajama pants from the kitchen booth beside you and awkwardly try to jam it through the crack in the door. Eddie fumbles with it for a second before says a quick, “Thanks,” and all but slams the door shut.
You try to collect yourself. Your face feels hot and you can almost feel your blood thrumming in your veins, and you go back to twirling the ring back and forth with more urgency this time. Fuck. Is this what it’s like to have a crush? It can’t be. You haven’t honestly had a crush on anyone since sophomore year, and it’s infuriating to think that Eddie Munson would be the one to call an end to your streak.
Eddie pops his head out of the bathroom. “You don’t have any shirts, do you?”
“I don’t think any of mine would fit you, babe,” you mutter, pointedly not looking at his body.
“Babe,” he echoes absently, like he’s trying to absorb the pet name. He hauls the wadded up pile of his previous outfit out of the bathroom and holds it up like it’s radioactive waste. “I got, uh… clothes.”
You blink, making eye contact with his knees. “Just toss them anywhere, I’ll do laundry tomorrow.”
Eddie tiptoes across your sprawled out legs and neatly tucks his pile of clothes into the kitchen booth before gracelessly plopping down onto the floor across from you. He lets out a long sigh, tilting his head back against the cabinet behind him and peering up through his lashes toward the ceiling.
“We are so incredibly screwed, aren’t we?”
You turn your head towards him, and there isn’t a physical way that you can’t stare, now. Eddie’s hair is wiry and retains its curl when wet, long enough to hang down past his collarbone. His dark eyes are still pinned to the ceiling, but his head is tilted back, letting you get a good long look at his neck. His chest is riddled with small, discombobulated tattoos that range in style and color, like he just laid down on a table and told his friends to have a crack at doodling all over him. Which, if you’re honest, you could absolutely see him doing.
You try to swallow down an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. The ring slips onto your thumb, and circles it with room to spare. “Maybe you are. I’m just the getaway driver, remember?”
His eyes find yours, but he doesn’t change the way his head is tilted, so he succeeds in looking down his nose at you and giving you a cheshire cat smile. “Aiding and abetting is a pretty serious crime, sweetheart. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”
You make an ugly snort-scoffing sound, swiping the box of chocolates up off the ground and roughly ripping it open. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“Why do you call me ‘babe?’”
“I- hhhh.” You grunt in irritation, digging a single chocolate out of the box and shoving it into your mouth while you try to think of an answer to that. “I call everyone ‘babe.’”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do!”
“You don’t call Harrington ‘babe,’” Eddie points out, a little smirk on his face as he takes the box of chocolates from you to dig one out for himself. “Or Nancy. I think you called Robin ‘honey’ once, but you were being sarcastic.”
“Well, maybe none of them get on my nerves like you do,” you snap. “Why are you paying so goddamn much attention to what I call people, anyways?
He dramatically clutches his hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I? Get on your nerves? Impossible. You’re the most patient person I’ve ever met. Why, if I had all the ability in the world, I’m sure I still couldn’t get under that skin,” he proclaims with an over exaggeratedly deep voice. Noticing you shaking your head at a pathetic attempt to argue without saying anything, he outright laughs. “Honestly! If I get on your nerves so much, then why are you the one who brings me shit? Why’d you go out of your way to get me these expensive chocolates- which are really fucking good, by the way- and then save my ass from almost certain death?”
“Not certain death,” you grumble down at the box.
“Certain death,” he insists. “Why? If I’m so incredibly infuriating to you?”
“Because the others didn’t want to, and I’m not heartless.” Your voice is snippy and hinting at your distress. There’s a harsh ache in your chest, and the more you stare at him, the more you want to reach out and grab him.
“Mhm, and is that why you also stuck around to smoke with me every time?” Eddie asks with a sing-songy tone.
“No, I did that because I like-” Catching yourself about to admit something you can’t take back, you interrupt yourself with a swift breath, and accidentally inhale a bit of chocolate. It takes a few awkward seconds for you to clear your throat, and you try hard to act normal, but he just has this way of not blinking when he’s focused on something, and right now that something is you.
“‘Because you like’ what?” He nudges your knee with his once you stop coughing like an idiot. You lift your eyes to meet his, finding a softness in them that you aren’t used to. “Go on.”
“Because I like…” you trail off, your eyes falling to a tattoo on his shoulder, half hidden by his hair. You lose your train of thought, squinting at the mark. “Ouroboros.”
“What?”
You shuffle onto your knees, shoving yourself forward to get a closer look. “Your tattoo,” you say as you move his hair out of the way and touch the ink on his skin. It’s small, it’s no wonder you didn’t notice it immediately, but it’s very obviously an Ouroboros, a snake swallowing its own tail to match the ring on your thumb.
“Oh.” Eddie lets out a laugh that sounds a touch nervous. “Well- yeah. Eternal life and all. It’s my favorite.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, and your hand falls to rest on his chest as you start examining each of his tattoos. There’s a rabbit, a winged skull, a spade; as your fingers trail down his chest, you feel his breathing getting a little bit faster. “I think it’s my favorite, too.”
He sits still for a moment, his dark eyes watching your fingers as they ghost across his skin, outlining each of his tattoos as you scrutinize them. He says your name, quietly; it’s barely even a whisper, but it comes from so deep in his chest that it emboldens you to continue, to shuffle in closer and let yourself explore him. It’s only when you reach one at the edge of his ribs that his hand catches your wrist, and his fingers completely circle it.
“You’re wearing it,” he observes quietly, his thumb brushing to touch the loose-fitting Ouroboros swinging freely around your own.
Your gaze snaps to his, and he’s staring at you now, not his hand on your wrist or your hand as it rests against the flat of his stomach. You think you could drown in the look that he’s giving you.
“‘Because you like’ what?” Eddie asks. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
“I like you,” you say in a rushed exhale, and once it’s out in the air, the words keep flowing like you’ve opened the floodgates. “I like spending time with you. And your stupid, pretty face. And all your tattoos that I could spend hours memorizing. And the way you blow smoke into my face because you know I won’t say anything, and the way you drink the absolute worst brand of beer, and the way you make me want to kiss you speechless.”
He ghosts a finger across your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “So, what are you waiting for?”
Your mouth hovers over his. His breath hits your lips, and it occurs to you to move into his lap, to straddle him, but you don’t quite manage to get that far before his forefinger hooks under your chin, and he kisses you.
Or, something like that. Rather, you sort of attack each others’ faces.
There’s something cathartic about it, and not worrying about it being good so much as it finally fucking happening, like you’ve just taken a sledgehammer to that last remaining wall between you. Eddie tastes like tobacco and chocolate and he makes a soft grunt into your mouth, and you don’t think it has to be perfect, because nothing about the situation or the two of you is.
Your hands scramble up his chest for something to hold onto, to tug him closer or just keep him there against you. They settle around his neck, getting him in a loose-laced chokehold that makes him stiffen and moan into your mouth. His Adam's apple jumps against your thumb. It’s a good thing that you didn’t manage to crawl into his lap at the last second, because Eddie’s hands come up to cup your face, and he lays you down on the floor as you pant into his open mouth.
His hands adjust the angle of your head, his tongue licking at yours, and it occurs to you that this is Munson- Eddie “the Freak” Munson- and you really shouldn’t like him, or the way he’s absolutely devouring your mouth. But you do. You like him so much, you could scream it.
“Christ, you’re so fucking gorgeous- and I want to kiss you all over- and I could just fucking- eat you alive,” Eddie rambles at you, staggered between kisses that steal the breath from your lungs.
Your legs open around his hips, and by some unconscious instinct you tug him further in. Your fingers dig at his shoulder blades until the bulge in his pajama pants presses up against the crux of your thighs. You didn’t realize that your distracted touch on his chest turned him on as much as it did, but you can feel your effect on him clear as day. A desperate whine leaves your throat as you slowly grind your hips up against his, letting the hard length of his cock drag over your clothed pussy.
Eddie groans, a sharp and dangerous warning sound that echoes in his chest and vibrates on your lips. He breaks away from you with a whispered, “Goddamn it,” and then his teeth graze your neck.
You hiccup as his tongue drags along the slope of your neck, and his teeth catch on the hem of your camisole at the same time your hands plant themselves on the back of his skull to keep him there. He makes a quiet mmph, but he doesn’t stop, his breath ghosting against your breast and his damp hair tickling your skin.
Fuck. You don’t even know what you’re doing, just that he makes you nervous. And not in a bad way either, but more in a can’t-fucking-think way. Especially when he’s dragging his lips softly over the lace at the neckline of your top, and his eyes are focused on your face, and his hand is settling on your waistband so you know where he’s going with this.
And his mouth leaves you just long enough for him to yank the neckline of your camisole down, and you barely have time to register the cool air before your nipple is engulfed in heat.
Air stalls in your chest, an animalistic noise coming out of your mouth as if you’ve become possessed. It takes every last bit of your mental ability to articulate, “I’m never gonna take the ring off, now.”
“Don’t.” Eddie’s voice has taken on the darkest tone you’ve ever heard, so much that you nearly swear it couldn’t come from him. Your hands tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll give you every one of my rings if it means I can have you like this.”
Heat blooms in your cheeks, and lower, where your body is screaming for him to move his hand away from your hip and inwards. “Eddie, baby-”
“I want to taste you,” he murmurs, then presses a slow, sensual kiss to your exposed nipple. “Do you want me to?”
Hm. Do you want Eddie Munson to go down on you? The question pings around in your skull for a moment due to the absurdity of it, that he would even think to ask-
“Y-yeah?”
Eddie breaks into the cheekiest grin you’ve seen him wear, one that lights up his entire face and makes his eyes shine like polished obsidian. And then he foregoes any formality, and positively rips your pants down your legs, taking your underwear with them.
“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, jerking your legs to help him get them off. You expect a quip from him in return, something about not being shy, or relaxing, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s entirely focused on wedging himself between your legs and dipping his tongue through the soaked folds of your pussy.
Eddie fucking moans . He moans, and you latch onto his hair with an iron grip that you didn’t even realize you had. The world tilts- or maybe it’s just your back arching off the ground and your eyes rolling backwards into your head. Either way, you can’t rip your focus from the gentle sucks and nips he’s giving you.
His lithe body pushes further in towards you, until your legs are folded over his bare shoulders and you’re crowded up against the kitchenette. You can’t seem to take a fucking breath around all the hoarse cries coming out of your throat. It honestly sounds like you’re sobbing, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you lifted your hand to find tears forming in your eyes.
Broad hands come up to caress your thighs, giving you almost comforting strokes as you roll your hips against his face. As if he could possibly get you to relax, unless he pulled his mouth away from you- which, you think if he did right now, you might kill him. You can feel how wet he has you already, and his tongue is no better. Slick and hot as fire, and making your toes curl against his back with every small circle he makes over your clit.
And then. You make the mistake of opening your eyes.
He’s all rosy cheeks on pale skin, dark hair and round eyes blown wide and black. Staring at you, reading your every microexpression from under his lashes as a flash of pink juts out of his mouth and eagerly laps at your cunt.
It should be fucking illegal to be this pretty. Somehow, Eddie does it so effortlessly, and you could die trying to fight how it affects you.
“Eddie, waitwaitwait- hoh fuck-” you gasp, fingers clawing at his head, as he takes his fucking time pulling away from you while you’re spiralling toward oblivion against his mouth. It takes a forceful push against his forehead to get him to pull back just slightly, and he’s out of breath by the time his head rests against your thigh.
“You all right, sweetheart?” He murmurs from between your legs, and he nearly sounds more aroused than you do.
You blink dazedly up at the ceiling for a few seconds before you collect your wits. “You were gonna make me come, and I just- I wanna fuck you so bad.”
You can practically hear the smirk on his face when he coos, “You wanna fuck me? Right here on the dirty floor?”
You take a second to think of a response to that. You could move back into the nook where your bed is, but why bother? “You were already halfway there.”
A low noise rumbles in his chest. “I can still finish what I started, if you want.”
The tip of his tongue traces a gentle, teasing line through your folds, enough to make you squirm and dig your heel into his back. “Eddie please-” you whine so pitifully, you’re not even sure the sound came from your own mouth, “god, I’m gonna come and- and I want you to feel it-”
Eddie hisses through his teeth like he’s in pain. “Fuck. God fucking damn it,” he swears, and his hands leave your thighs before you see him run one through his hair. “All right, sweetheart. You win. Dunno how the hell I’m ever gonna be able to say no to you.”
Eddie sits back on his knees, straightening up so that you can admire the entirety of his lean frame. He’s a bit on the willowy side, but he has soft areas where you know just from touching him that muscle lurks underneath. His thumbs hook on his waistband, then reaches within to lift his erection out, and his gaze settles heavily on yours. “Is this what you wanted?”
You blink at him. As if he needs to ask, when your entire body is shaking as you’re biting your lip, staring at him fisting his cock. “I… stop stalling and come. Here.”
Slowly- too slowly for your liking- Eddie does what he’s told. You can’t help but feel like he’s being a little bit cocky now that he has the upper hand, biting down on his lip before they come level with your own. The huff of a laugh that he makes billows across your skin. “Needy.”
You whimper high in your throat as he presses in, feeling like you could tell him exactly how needy you are, how you have been for him this entire time. If only you could get the words out, but he sinks his cock into you so deep that you can’t think, you can barely even breathe. He stretches you so wide, makes you so full that you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat.
It’s absolute heaven.
Eddie grits his teeth, rocking his hips into yours just a bit sharper so that you fling your legs around his waist. “Been thinking about this,” he groans into your shoulder, while you’re naturally unable to answer him. “Thought about fucking you on Rick’s floor- I would have. God, I fucking wanted to. Didn’t think- fuck- didn’t think you’d go for it-”
“Eddie-!” Your voice is too shrill. Is that your voice? You can’t tell anymore, your ability to articulate anything other than his name feels like it's entirely left you. Your hands are tangled in his hair and clawing long marks along his shoulder blade, your lungs punching out hard and hollow gasps each time he reaches the end of you.
You know that he can be gentle when he wants to be. You know. Which is why you know that he’s not trying to be gentle with you now, and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s a punishment or a reward for finally letting him do this to you.
And, perhaps his cruelest trick of all- his hand comes up to clasp around your throat, as your head is tilted back against the hard floor. The metal of his rings dig into your skin, not enough to cause pain, but just to let you know they’re there. To remind you that one of them is missing.
Eddie’s thumb presses into your mouth, until you can taste the salt of his sweat on your tongue. He spits out a curse when you mindlessly close your lips around it, letting your teeth scrape his skin as he drives his hips into yours.
“That’s it,” he whispers, and his mouth is so close to your ear that you feel his breath fan against it. “That’s my good girl.”
Oh god, he really is a dream. It’s the only way you know that you’re still here, that Vecna hasn’t gotten to you yet. You couldn’t make this up, and you couldn’t imagine any nightmare where this takes place.
Eddie lifts his head to look at you, and you know you’re done for. Sinful heat sinks low in your gut, ripe and pinpointed between your legs, and you clench desperately around him. He’s so pretty. So pretty, so pretty, so pretty. It plays on a loop in your head like a scratched record, until you’re almost certain he’s ransacked your brain and superimposed every one of your thoughts with it.
“Oh, she’s gonna come, isn’t she?” He muses, a bit breathless. A smile stretches across his face, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Go on, sweetheart. You wanted me to feel it- let me.”
You sob brokenly, biting down on his intrusive thumb in your mouth as your orgasm splinters through you. It’s so good, so strong that it nearly hurts. Your hips jolt up to meet his on their own, entirely separated from where your mind is, in the clouds.
You hear him swear again, this time more of a primal growl than an actual word, and he rips his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop. You manage to whimper, before Eddie dips down to groan his own release into your open mouth, smothering you in a kiss as he comes.
Eyes closed, your senses are almost entirely dampened to everything except the feeling of Eddie’s elbow buckling under him, and his body pressing in on top of you. You feel like you’re floating, despite his weight anchoring you down. His breath on your neck and his little mumbled praises that go in one ear and out the other as he rolls off to the left.
It takes his hand on your face to finally rouse you from the stupor he put you in, and even then, you expend twice as much energy than normal trying to open your eyes to him.
He lays beside you, head resting on the fake wood floor. Thumb stroking the side of your face, he smiles affectionately at you. “Hey there, pretty girl.”
You can’t really bring yourself to give him much more than a sleepy smile and a weak ‘mm.’ Your legs are tangled in his, the warm, wet mess of his spend seeping out from between your thighs. It feels dirty, and sort of fucked up, and yet…
This was always going to happen. Whether it happened here, or happened at Rick’s, or if sometime in the future it happens at his place. On the dirty floor, in the kitchen. Because that’s just the way you are with him.
“‘Low charisma’ my ass,” you manage to croak at him, your eyes sluggishly refusing to stay open.
He blinks at you. You watch the wheels turn in his head, watch him connect the dots between your words and the ones he said to you two days ago. Then, he just looks… enamored. Like he didn’t expect you to have been listening to him, to remember whatever nerdy thing he’d mentioned off the cuff.
Eddie tuts, his fingers soothing over your sticky, hot skin. “We have to get up, baby. Shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”
“Can’t sleep.”
“What?”
“I can’t sleep,” you repeat, slurring your words tiredly. “Haven’t been able to for a while… too scared…”
“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me.” Eddie pats your cheek softly, and the quiet timbre of his voice threatens to lull you further, rather than wake you. “C’mon. I tell really good bedtime stories.”
You whine grumpily as he pulls you up, clumsily maneuvering you past the bathroom stall and into the nook at the very back of the motor home that acts as your bedroom. “How the hell’d you get a whole fuckin’ bed in here?” he mutters in disbelief as he packs you into it. At some point you guess he decided he didn’t need the pajama pants anymore, and crawls in beside you entirely naked.
“Eddie?” you ask, as you feel him tucking your rumpled sheets around you. “Can we do this, like, every night?”
“Depends. Do you want to wake up to me every morning?”
You blink your eyes open at him, so appalled that you almost entirely wake back up. He’s looking blankly back at you, like he doesn’t exactly grasp the weight of what he just said.
“Eddie, I-” you stammer, looking for the fucking words to express how you feel about him. “I-I didn’t think I was even going to get this far. You have no idea how much I want to… fucking… I want to wake up to you every morning. Yeah. I do. Stupid fucking pretty face and all. Making me lose my mind. Bitch.”
Eddie snorts loudly, and pulls you close to him as he holds in his laughter, pressing a kiss between your eyes. “There’s my girl. I’ll stick around until you get sick of me, sweetheart. I promise.” He picks up your hand and laces your fingers together, letting the metal of his rings clack against the one around your thumb.
You hum contentedly. “You better.”
“Now, shut up and close your eyes. I’m gonna tell you a story.” You begrudgingly do as he says, sighing as you melt into the warmth of his body. “‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat-’ Why are you laughing? What?”
You crack your eyes open, body shaking as you giggle with your lips pressed together. “Are you reciting The Hobbit?”
“Yeah.”
“From heart?”
“...Yeah.” Eddie blinks, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks. “I know the first three chapters.”
You choke down another fit of giggles. “Eddie?”
“Mm?”
“I’m in fuckin’ love with you.”